


different from what any one supposed, and luckier

by afraidplushappy



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam is a STEM major, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drug Dealer Noah, M/M, Obligatory meaningless Tad Carruthers cameo, Recreational Drug Use, Stoned Sex, Stoner Noah, Tattoos, Walt Whitman - Freeform, detailed descriptions of bong usage, weed & sex as stress relief, you could read this as romantic or platonic imo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afraidplushappy/pseuds/afraidplushappy
Summary: Adam (the successful yet stressed grad student) returns to his table at the university library to find Noah (the campus plug) twenty pages into his textbook on psychedelic drugs. An unlikely friendship is born.
Relationships: Noah Czerny/Adam Parrish
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	different from what any one supposed, and luckier

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Between Green and Gray](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6911119) by [Luz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luz/pseuds/Luz). 



> A while back, my friend [Luz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luz/pseuds/Luz) wrote an [AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6911119/chapters/15764938) in which Adam and Blue are rich, Ronan and Gansey are broke, and Noah sells everyone weed. The story never fails to make me laugh, but one part in particular continues to fascinate me:
> 
>  _Even though he’d never met any of them, Gansey had the definite feeling that Noah didn’t invite all of his customers to hang out with him. He wondered what it was about Adam that had invoked his favor._ (Chapter 1)
> 
> So this is my take on how Adam and Noah met. Thank you to John, Nate, and Lydia for reading before anyone else.

The library bustled, students everywhere crammed for midterms, and as always, Adam had too much work to do. Earlier, he had claimed an entire table in the back near the religion section by spreading out his books and papers before going to grab coffee. He stood in line for the free coffee near the circulation desk, nodding at classmates he saw hauling armfuls of books around. The library was densely populated this time of the semester. All the seats along the tall glass windows were occupied by people typing away on little laptops or hunched over textbooks.

As Adam poured himself a cup, he made a mental note to check the time of the Saturday appointment he'd made with his advisor. In his head, he ran through his to-do list: finish neurobiology reading, post notes on class webpage, coordinate with group members about meeting before Monday, email professor about extra credit. The list went on and on, but Adam made himself stop thinking further than that.

With a steaming styrofoam cup in hand, he headed back to his homework. Today would be productive. Armed with his trusty to-do list and shitty yet uber-caffeinated library coffee, he vowed he would get things done. But when he rounded the end of a bookcase and found a stranger sitting in his chair, his thoughts flew out the window.

"Hello," Adam said, startled.

The stranger looked up. "Hey, man — sorry. I was just walking by and saw this."

Adam took a closer look. The young man was reading one of his textbooks: _Psychedelic Drugs Reconsidered._

"This is rad," the man said, tapping the cover.

He looked like he'd walked off the set of an early 2000s punk music video, with a gray beanie over ash-blond hair, a black hoodie, and a skateboard leaning against his chair. The design printed on the underbelly of the board was elaborate but could be summed up with a few keywords like _freakish_ and _trippy_ and _skeletons._

"Are you reading this for a class?" he asked, gesturing to the book.

"Yeah," Adam replied, sinking into the seat across from him and wrapping his hands around his coffee. "Neurobiology."

The stranger looked impressed. "There's another book like this... What's it called? I'll think of the author in a second." He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of Adam's textbook. As he was doing so, he said, "I'm Noah, by the way."

"Adam Parrish." Then, out of curiosity, "What do you study?"

"Uh, existence. The void. That's kind of a big question." He had a pierced lip, and when he smiled he touched the tip of his tongue to it. It was a single silver ring encircling his lower lip. Not right in the middle, but a little to the left.

Adam blinked. "I mean, what's your major?"

Noah shook his head. "Oh, I don't go to school here."

"You just like hanging out in the science library?"

"Something like that," Noah said.

"Czerny — there you are," a voice sounded from behind a bookshelf.

To Adam's surprise it was his classmate Tad Carruthers who rounded the corner. He smashed knuckles with Noah and said, "My man, what's up?"

"Getting some book recs," Noah said.

Something clicked in Adam's brain. Czerny. He'd heard the name before.

"Hey, Parrish," Tad said. "Didn't know you had dealings with Noah."

Suspecting what this meant, Adam replied, "No, we just met."

"Ah, of course," Tad remarked. "All work and no play, right?"

Right. So it was Noah Czerny, local drug dealer. Adam had overheard the name mentioned by his classmates during occasional social gatherings and casual before-class conversations in terms of, _"Czerny said he could stop by later,"_ and _"Isn't Czerny around? Let's try him,"_ and _"Where the hell is Czerny when you need him?"_

Adam had never made his acquaintance before today, though. He was pleasantly surprised to find the mythical Czerny was not the brain-dead degenerate he'd been conditioned to expect. Noah didn't exactly ooze charisma, either, but apparently he didn't need to.

Noah said to Tad, "Can we walk? I'm meeting some others on the third floor." He hauled himself out of his chair and picked up his skateboard. To Adam, he said, "Pollan. Michael Pollan. _How to Change Your Mind._ " Then Noah seemed to decide something. He said, "Text me," and produced a scrap of paper from his pocket for Adam. He gave a two-fingered salute from his temple before following Tad toward the elevator.

Adam picked up the paper to examine. As far as he could tell, it was a business card, almost a square, with uneven edges like it'd been cut by hand with scissors. In all caps, the words "CHAIR-KNEE" were printed in Comic Sans, along with a phone number.

Adam returned to his studying, but by the end of the night, his text messages read like this:

**_Hey Noah, it's Adam Parrish_ **

_all work & no play adam parrish? _

**_Yes_ **

**_But I like to think it's more "work hard, play hard"_ **

_:~0_

_good motto_

***

Noah lived in an old house-turned-apartments on a busy downtown street populated entirely by students, excluding Noah himself. He'd told Adam he could park behind the house, but had neglected to mention the driveway leading back was the most narrow strip of pavement Adam would ever drive. Adam had to inch his car forward at a crawling pace, minding the buildings on either side of him. He could see nasty scrapes on the brick where others had been less careful maneuvering their vehicles, and thanked God when he and the Lexus got through unscathed.

Noah had invited Adam over within a week of their meeting. After texting all weekend and exchanging links to various articles on the therapeutic potential of psychedelic drugs and anthropological studies on entheogens in religious traditions, Noah knew he must get stoned with Adam. Adam knew this because Noah told him so over an impulsive phone call late Sunday night.

He knocked on Noah's door and a moment later it opened with a horrendous creak. Noah had shed his beanie and oversized hoodie in exchange for just a gray T-shirt. It hung off him in a way that assured he was frighteningly skinny underneath. It also showed off his tattoos, which Adam hadn't seen before. They were all black, no color, and scribbled like absent-minded doodles up and down his arms: skulls wreathed in roses, skeletal hands crossing their fingers or holding joints, each one a toss up between anatomical or cartoonish, creepy or cute. Adam figured creepy and cute were Noah's core aesthetic values.

This was confirmed when Adam stepped into the apartment and took a look around. The furniture was sparse, the water-stained floorboards were bare, but the living room walls stood plastered with art. Every poster, every painting, and every trippy tapestry had something to do with death.

"Jesus, Noah," Adam said.

Noah grinned. " _Memento mori."_

Adam recalled his year of undergraduate Latin courses. "Yeah, no kidding."

"It makes me look more obsessed than I am. It's just that once everyone knows you're the skeleton guy, they start giving you stuff for your collection."

Just like that, Adam was comforted. The two men sunk into the low couch. The wooden coffee table before them was clear except for rings upon rings of moisture stains, a small round cactus in a skull-shaped planter, and an excellently crafted glass bong, all silver and purple swirls.

Adam had admitted to Noah he'd smoked a handful of times, mostly as an undergrad. Back when the code of conduct he kept for himself was a little less restrictive, back when he didn't talk to his parents and spent winter breaks at his friends' houses instead of his own. Adam considered those years to be a phase of wandering through his life, testing the limits of new freedoms, sometimes to his own detriment. He grew out of that Adam okay, though. Now he considered himself more disciplined and a better son. He considered this a good thing, because he was more in tune with the advantages his family and this life afforded him, and believed he could better navigate the disadvantages.

So when Noah had suggested they smoke together and offered his weed dealing services to Adam, his first instinct was to say no thanks, to tell himself he'd grown out of such things. But to Adam's surprise, Noah had convinced him to come over. It wasn't as if Adam said no and Noah had to make an explicit argument to coerce him over; Noah just talked in his easygoing manner and appealed to Adam's curiosity enough for him to consider the offer a little harder.

Noah began packing a bowl out of a sleek little black grinder and asked Adam how his weekend was.

Adam shrugged and watched Noah's fingers transfer pinches of weed to the bong. He said, "Spent a lot of time in the library. Worked on a group project. Met with a couple professors."

"Seriously?" Noah asked, rising from the couch and wandering into the kitchen. "Nothing fun?"

Adam didn't tell Noah that meeting with his advisor, Professor Poldma, at the cafe near her house was always a treat. He didn't think discussing forest moss experiments with a graying woman while she knit mittens for her niece would meet Noah's expectations of fun. Instead, he said, "I've been busy with midterms coming up."

Noah had returned from the kitchen with a couple ice cubes in each hand. One after the other, he fed them into the top of the bong and Adam watched them pile up in the tube.

Noah nodded solemnly. "Work hard, play hard." He held out the bong.

Adam didn't mention he hadn't taken much time to play recently. Maybe that was part of the reason he was here with Noah today. That, and Noah himself was like a mound of mysterious forest moss, the inner workings of which Adam was determined to figure out through close analysis.

He took the heavy glass artifact in hand and looked to Noah for guidance. Noah flashed a warm smile, his tongue touching his lip ring. "I'll light it for you, man."

Adam put his mouth to the bong and breathed in as Noah held the flame of his lighter to the bowl. It lit up orange for a moment before Noah tugged it out with careful fingers. The water inside gurgled and even after passing over the ice, the smoke burned the back of Adam's throat.

He coughed and a larger cloud of smoke than he expected burst from his mouth.

Noah beamed and took the bong back. "Hell. Yeah."

On the far wall, Adam recognized a print of a painting. _Skull of a Skeleton with Burning Cigarette._ Vincent Van Gogh. Eyes still watering, he asked, "Doesn't that make you want to quit smoking?"

Noah followed Adam's gaze. "That? No way. Van Gogh smoked his whole life. I looked it up, they think he painted it as a joke." He took a long, steady hit and the bong bubbled in agreement.

" _They_?"

"I don't know," Noah said, smoke puffing from his mouth with each word. "The art people."

Adam huffed a laugh, which turned into a cough, which turned into another laugh. He received the piece again, letting Noah light it for him once more. He managed to light it on his own on the third round, however, and considered himself a pro by the fourth. At this time, Adam realized the world had softened and slowed down significantly within the past fifteen minutes. He did not remember this change to his consciousness occurring, but he accepted it nonetheless.

"I don't know how you do it," Noah said. "School. College."

"It's not for everyone," Adam said instinctively. Sometimes his "elite" education made him self-conscious among non-students his age. Sometimes he felt he spoke a language different from every non-academic he knew. Being around Noah didn't give him that feeling, though. Something about the ease with which Noah inhabited himself was comforting in a way that told Adam, _I have it all figured out, so you don't have to._

"Yep," Noah said. "Everything I want to know I can read on Wikipedia."

Noah leaned back into his corner of the couch. His hair fell in his eyes. Adam noticed another tattoo on the inside of his arm, not a human skull this time but a deer or an elk, with a pair of impressive antlers winding up and around his bicep. The empty eye sockets stared at Adam and the mouth seemed to laugh. On the coffee table, the last slivers of ice in the bong melted and dropped into the basin.

"Can I use your bathroom?" Adam asked.

Noah shoved a thumb over his shoulder at a pair of open doors. One led to what was obviously Noah's bedroom, and the other to the most small, cramped bathroom Adam had ever been in.

He pissed and washed his hands, letting the weak faucet water run over his wrists as he considered himself in the mirror. His eyes were red around the edges, pupils full. He ran wet hands through his hair and over the back of his warm neck. His movements seemed sleepy, arms heavy.

His thoughts were inattentive, catching on little things before releasing them with indifference. And yes, there was something calming about this state of mind, but there was also something a little nerve-wracking and anxious that Adam had to keep pushing down whenever it popped up. He figured that wasn't the weed, though; that was all the time.

There was a part of Adam that knew his drug would always be plain black coffee and the rewarding high of productivity. Not alcohol like his unconcerned parents, or weed like the mild, unambitious Noah he'd so recently come to know. On occasion Adam even tried the study drugs the rest of his classmates offered him. It always made him feel like a cheater, like he was tricking his body into doing something it wasn't supposed to do. Because on some level, Adam knew he wasn't built for numb oblivion or relaxed recreation or effortless, artificial focus. His body was built for hard work, rigorous study, hours upon hours in the library or the lab late every night melting his eyeballs, ticking things off a to-do list that never ran out of tasks for him to complete.

On the way out of the bathroom, Adam paused and snuck a glance into Noah's bedroom. There was a bed with white sheets on a low wooden platform, a flexible reading lamp clamped to the bed frame, and a small shelf full of books in the corner. The one window in the room was propped open with a metal ruler and the curtains shifted serenely in the breeze. A quote had been hand-painted on the far wall in sloppy green paint. It read:

_"All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,_

_And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier."_

_–Walt Whitman, Song of Myself_

Adam read it twice before he realized Noah had come to stand next to him. He smelled like weed and cheap deodorant.

Adam pointed at the quote. "Morbid."

"No, it's not," Noah insisted. "That's what Whitman's trying to tell you." He went to the wall and touched one bony finger to the paint.

Adam leaned heavily in the door frame and squinted at the lines once more. "What's he trying to tell me?"

"That death isn't the end, because there is no end. Life goes on." Noah traced the letters with his finger. "We're lucky to die because we're lucky to live. Life and death are inseparable."

Adam blinked. "I'm STEM, not humanities."

Noah looked over his shoulder. "It _is_ STEM, Adam. When you die, your body decomposes and your molecules get recycled back into the earth, right? Eventually they become something else. It's the circle of life."

"Okay," Adam said, clearly too out of it. "Sure."

"Here," Noah said, gesturing for Adam to come into his room. He pulled a fat, fraying copy of _Leaves of Grass_ from his little bookshelf. He placed it in Adam's hands. "Read it sometime."

Adam flipped the cover open and found a short inscription on the title page. It said: _Top of page 30. –Gansey_

"What's on page thirty?" Adam asked, flipping forward in the book. "What's _Gansey_?"

Noah didn't reply but instead watched benevolently as Adam fumbled for the right page.

When he found it, Adam read aloud, "The smoke of my own breath, echoes, ripples, buzzed whispers, love-root, silk-thread—"

"Hey." Noah stood up straight and kissed Adam on the mouth — softly, and just for a moment before pulling away. "You should really read from the beginning."

Adam blinked once at him, set the book aside on the shelf, and leaned down to kiss Noah back. He did so as gently as possible, because even though he knew he was quite a good kisser, Adam was suddenly self-conscious. He felt like a teen again, like he'd snuck out of his father's house to do this and any moment he would have to leave, sneak back in, tuck one more secret away from the world.

One of Noah's hands found one of Adam's. Their fingers twisted together at their sides. Adam relished the feeling of Noah's lips on his, soft and steady, his kisses smooth as smoke.

But there was so much else stuffed up in Adam's head. There were things he had to do. Readings and assignments and projects. He was due for a phone call to his parents soon, maybe a family dinner...

Noah pulled back, his eyebrows knit in concern. He'd sensed Adam's distractedness. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," Adam breathed, settling his gaze on Noah, determined to maintain focus. "I'm sorry, I..."

Noah waited for him to finish, eyes patiently scanning his face, watching for a response, one hand still clasped in Adam's. When Adam didn't continue, though, Noah said, "Forget about them."

Adam didn't have to ask who. He got the feeling Noah meant everyone. Everyone and everything that wasn't the two of them. They kissed again. Adam felt Noah's piercing between his lips. Before he could stop himself, Adam pressed the tip of his tongue to the ring, curious as to what it would feel like.

Noah pulled away, and Adam was afraid he'd fucked it up. But Noah only smiled and led Adam the few steps to the edge of his bed. They sank down onto the edge of the mattress together. Noah took Adam's head in both hands and glanced over his face only briefly before kissing him again.

Outside, the busy downtown street bustled with students and tourists and shoppers. Dogs barked. Engines revved and rumbled past. Within the building, Noah's neighbors produced a gurgle of conversation behind the walls, punctuated by laughter. But soon that all faded, and the world became quiet and still. The world was going on all around them and yet Adam could not stop kissing Noah.

His lips were soft, if not a little cold, like his hands. That was okay. Adam didn't mind. There was a weight on Adam's chest now. Not a sharp, aching one like he was used to, but a comforting one, like a warm little animal or a heavy blanket. Noah wrapped him up in his feeling as they rearranged themselves on Noah's mattress. Adam did not know how the two of them had grown so fond of each other in such a short amount of time, but they didn't need an explanation. Adam the scientist, the researcher, the one who did not believe in fate or miracles or magic, let himself enjoy lying on his side in Noah's bed, kissing him, without evidence to give him a reason why he felt so content to.

They pulled each other closer by the hips with fumbling amusement. Noah managed to coax Adam on top of him, and he settled between Noah's legs and propped himself up on his elbows. He ducked his head and kissed Noah harder, yet their movements remained blissfully uncoordinated as they started tugging off each others clothes.

***

It was just the kind of lazy, ungraceful sex Adam needed. Bumped noses became muttered apologies became huffs of laughter became more kisses, wet and slick, with maybe a little too much tongue and a little too much teeth. But when their mouths broke away Noah kept smiling, eyes bright, and he kept moving for Adam in a way that said, _Go on._

At one point Adam whispered, "You're cute," though he could not remember if he'd meant to say it or just accidentally thought it aloud. Noah just threw back his head and laughed. Adam laughed too and kissed his chin, his hips still rocking into Noah unhurriedly. They took their time, drew obscene, joyous moans from each other, and delighted in their deliberate, leisurely satisfaction.

***

Adam lay on his back in Noah's bed, naked, staring up at a strange contraption on Noah's ceiling. It was like a child's hanging mobile, with dangling glass prisms and glittering little globes. Adam lifted one lazy hand and pointed to it questioningly.

Noah lay on his stomach by Adam's side. His face was pressed into one pillow as he dozed, but he looked up at the ceiling contraption when Adam gestured. He murmured, "It's a snow globe solar system. My friend Gansey made it."

"Gansey who gave you the book?"

"Yeah." Noah considered the prisms and sparkly globes. "He's a mad inventor. A scholar, too. You'd like him."

Adam placed a hand on Noah's back and skimmed his fingers up his spine to a newly revealed tattoo between his shoulder blades. It was a rectangular image framing a skeleton in black armor riding a white horse and bearing a flag. The card was labeled with the Roman numeral eight. Adam recognized the art style and figured it was the tarot card for Death. He remembered hearing somewhere once that the Death card didn't necessarily stand for literal death, but rather indicated a change or transformation. He couldn't remember where he'd heard it. Maybe it had been Poldma — she was into that sort of thing.

Noah said, "Here, I'll show you how it works."

He stood on his bed and reached up to the hanging mobile gadget. He flipped a switch where it attached to the ceiling. Slowly, the globes and prisms began to circle each other like little planets as a tiny motor whirred inside the contraption.

Noah plopped back down on the mattress and said, "Pretty sure I just flashed every frat guy in the house next door."

Adam snorted. The sun shining in through the open window got caught up in the globes. Each prism cast a handful of dancing rainbows around the room.

Noah remarked, "That's awkward. I hope they don't stop buying weed from me."

Adam buried his face in Noah's pillow and laughed.

"Hey, Adam," Noah said. "Do you like Mario Kart?"

***

They spent the rest of the evening lounging around Noah's apartment, playing video games on the archaic GameCube in the living room and smoking another bowl. Adam got Noah to talk about his tattoos and explain sections of Whitman to him. By the time Adam was sober again, the sun was going down.

As he slipped his shoes on by the door, he said, "Thanks for convincing me to get out of my head for a bit."

"Anytime," Noah said. He flashed a knowing smile that said, _Really. Anytime._

"Sure thing," Adam said. He smiled back in a way that said, _Okay. Bet on it._

"Hold up." Noah fetched _Leaves of Grass_ from the coffee table. "Seriously, take this. Read it or don't — I know you're busy. But you can use it as an excuse to visit again."

Pleased with this arrangement, they said their goodbyes and Adam departed. As he was squeezing the Lexus out from between Noah's building and the frat house next door, Adam heard an exceedingly masculine whoop from the street. He ended up waiting in the driveway for a group of men in sports jerseys to pass on the sidewalk. On the other side of the road, a young woman walked her tiny yipping dog. Ivy grew up the sides of the houses, silently, slowly. Someone on a motorcycle sped between two cars and they leaned on their horns in disgust.

Adam pulled out onto the busy street and made his way across town towards campus. Under the passenger seat, his backpack full of papers and books waited for him. The library called to him. But Adam just smiled. What had Noah said? Life goes on.

**Author's Note:**

> [Leaves of Grass, page 30](https://whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/figures/ppp.00707.038.jpg), or [read the whole thing online](https://whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1891/whole.html). All you need to know about Whitman is that he loved nature, was obsessed with death, and was super queer. (Extremely relatable dude.)
> 
> Don't forget to check out [Luz's story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6911119/chapters/15764938) and [my tumblr](https://afraidplushappy.tumblr.com/post/619755338283057152/adam-knew-he-wasnt-built-for-numb-oblivion-or).


End file.
